50 prompts
by Prnc Ashee
Summary: 50 prompts to the tune of Johnny the Homicidal Maniac. All will include either Squee or Johnny. Individual drabbles have summaries at the top. Enjoy, and remember to review!
1. 1 Don't Look

**Prompt: #1. Don't look**

** Word count: 379**

** Summary: Johnny cares too much for Squee's health to expose him.**

** Rating: T**

** Warnings: None.**

Squee was just a young tot of merely seven years. He still dragged around the tatters of his teddy bear, Shmee, still forgot to tie his shoes, still stumbled around the English language occasionally, still feared the night time and monsters, and still had silly pretend games he played with his toys. He had a fragile mind, one that was very influenced by the goings on around him. Johnny knew that with as traumatized the boy was at this early stage of his life, he couldn't take much more before his brain sizzled and just snapped.

Johnny took special care to shield Squee from the horrors of the world, going as far as he could to teach the boy not to take the abuses of the world and to keep him away from the dark, dank things that had burdened him. He had always kept an idle eye on him, trying to keep his pure soul from becoming tainted, even by himself. He especially did not want to be the one to push the young boy off the proverbial cliff.

He could think of no worse fate than to be bothered by insanity, being teased with small lapses of consciousness, or to be locked away and deemed useless by a society of morally corrupt idiots. He definitely did not want a fate like that for his darling Squeegee pal. Although he himself was very screwed up, and he would admit to his insanity; he cared for the boy's mental state. He wanted more for the youngster than what he had given himself.

He convinced himself that _that_ was the reason, when Squee had found himself buried in the deep confines of Johnny's extensive cellar, searching for the man to borrow a cup of sugar for his doped up mother, Johnny had fondly covered the boy's eyes and whispered a soft "don't look," before he pulled the lever, so that the thin tendrils of Squee's mind would not snap as the fountains of blood splattered the walls.

**A/N: Hello all. :B**

**Yeeeah, I've got tons of projects now. Go me! /suicide**

**Anyhow, this is pretty self-explanatory. Each prompt will be its own drabble or oneshot, none are related to each other unless I specify so. Each one may be whatever length my idea matches up to. **

**One down, forty-nine to go! **

**Review, loves (:**


	2. 2 They'll never know

**Prompt: #2. They'll never know**

** Word count: 954**

** Summary: "They'll never know how much you mean to me.."**

** Rating: M**

** Warnings: Violence, gore, character death.**

Darkness. Darkness stretched as far as he could see. Anxiety bubbled up into his throat, effectively choking off most of the air flow to his lungs. He fought to keep a steady breathing pattern and inched his way across the room agonizingly slow, his body being wracked with violent shudders. His eyes felt almost like they were stapled wide open on adrenaline and a desperate hope of any sort of light. His ears were ringing and his body was hyper aware.

He didn't know how he ended up down here. He had woken up with a splitting headache to the dank smell of a basement and the over powering scent of blood and death, surrounded by blackness. He had a strong feeling that Johnny was having a lapse in his sanity and the man was to blame for his current predicament. As the thought crossed his mind and he realized this was a good possibility, his blood ran cold and his fear was increased tenfold. If that was the case, he was in a more life threatening situation than he initially thought.

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he could feel his body begin to shake uncontrollably. He started walking cautiously; trying to move faster than the dead crawl he was going at before. He reached ahead with his arms, searching for anything at all to aid in his search for an exit. He hissed as his left arm grazed against what he assumed to be some sort of blade and moved quickly to the right. He felt his body lurch backwards and shrieked when he comprehended that he was suddenly falling. He tumbled down the stair case violently, feeling each individual stair each time he made impact. The stairs seemed to go on forever until he abruptly stopped, sprawled out on a floor that was covered with some kind of liquid.

The smell of blood was even stronger down here. He groaned and tried sitting up, only to have a sharp pain shoot through his entire left side. He gasped and gingerly fingered his rib area, hissing in pain as he made contact. He made a little whimpering noise in his throat and his eyes snapped closed. Johnny could smell out injured prey like a dog. He was truly doomed.

After a few long moments, he cracked his eyes open once more. He squinted and looked around for any faint hint of light; this time he was rewarded. His eyes locked onto the sliver of dim yellow from what looked to be a tall doorway that was left ajar. He could now see the dark red liquid that was covering the floor and flooding into the next room, which vanquished any idea that he was currently sitting in water. He was most definitely soaked in someone else's blood.

He stood quickly, regretting it immediately as the pain hit him and made him feel nauseous. He tried his best to push it aside and continue on his course. He slowly ambled across the room, the only noise accompanying him being his shallow breathing and wet foot falls. The smell of blood and death was becoming stronger with every step he took, adding to his lightheadedness and nausea. He finally made it to the door and pushed it open, revealing a largely empty room. He could see now that the weak light was from a single lit candle sitting upon a neat little desk. The only other item on the surface was a raggedy looking leather bound book. Oddly, there was no chair present.

He limped over to the desk, feeling an inkling of relief as he got closer to the light source. He absently reached out with his uninjured arm and ran his hand along the oak wood, stopping just before the book. He gazed down at it dully for a few moments, wondering what its purpose was in this level of the house and of what use it was to the owner. He brought his shaking hand over to it, flipping the old cover over to look at the first page. It seemed to be a diary. His attention was stolen briefly by the flickering of the candle, before he decided this curiosity would not be quenched and he needed to find an alternative way to get back upstairs.

His eyes raked over the room, falling in disappointment as he realized he had been led into a dead end. His disappointment quickly turned to fear and dread, however, when his ears picked up on the creaking of the door behind him.

He turned instinctively in alarm, though truthfully he would rather have not seen the sight that greeted him. Johnny was standing there, soaked to the bone with blood, his pupils dilated and a rather sharp looking knife hanging limply from his hand. His clothing was in tatters and there was a nasty gash across his cheek, which he idly suspected was not caused in a struggle. As his suspicions that Johnny was clearly not in the right state of mind were confirmed, his hope of survival was dashed. He resigned to the idea that he was going to die in this retched basement, in the small room with the odd leather bound book.

That was why, when Johnny jerkily made his way over to him, wrapped his arms around him from behind and pressed the smooth, cold blade up against his jugular, and whispered a soft "they'll never know how much you mean to me," he did not struggle. He simply fell limp, ignored the pain of the knife cutting his throat, and watched his own blood spatter against the wall before he fell unconscious, never to wake.

**A/N:****I****feel****like****I****need****to****explain****a****little****bit.**

** Okay,****this****is****basically****Johnny****going****batshit****insane****and****knocking****someone****(I****imagine****Squee****myself,****but****I****suppose****you****can****imagine****anyone****you****'****d****like)****who****means****a****lot****to****him****out,****throwing****them****in****his****basement,****and****killing****them.****My****own****motive****for****Johnny****in****this****is****that****he****'****s****having****a****lapse****of****sanity.****The****voices****are****in****full****swing****and****plaguing****him****like****never****before.****He****is****killing****this****someone****as****an****act****of****mercy,****before****the****voices****and****manifestations****find****them.****He****'****s****seeing****this****as****the****only****way****for****this****person****not****to****suffer****at****the****hands****of****some****malevolent****force.****He****'****s****killing****this****person****before****the****manifestations****figure****out****that****this****person****means****so****much****to****him,****and****makes****him****happy,****so****that****the****voices****can****'****t****kill****them****in****some****horrifying****way****to****throw****Johnny****into****an****even****deeper****despair.**

** Or maybe Johnny's just a dingbat :'D**

**Review, loves :) **


	3. 3 I don't get it

**Prompt: #3. I don't get it**

** Word count: 508**

** Summary: Squee has trouble with his homework.**

** Rating: T**

** Warnings: Use of the word "dildo."**

Squee hunched over his geometry book, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. His lower lip was being chewed on in his concentration, a mechanical pencil tapped rapidly against his open notebook. He was sitting with his legs crossed on Johnny's ratty couch, the textbook lying on the adjacent cushion. Said man was buried somewhere in the depths of the house; Squee didn't know. He just knew he had to figure out this topic, or he would be lost for a great while.

He let out a loud noise that sounded like a hybrid between a whine and a growl, throwing his pencil down at the book. "Geometry," he hissed, narrowing his eyes at the remaining page of work he had yet to do. "Get a dildo and do yourself." He held his heated stare off with the daunting numbers printed across page 142 for a few moments longer, before a resigned sigh passed his lips and his picked up his abused pencil once more. "Yelling at the book will get you no where, Todd..." he mumbled to himself, chewing the tip of the eraser.

He had been focusing on his homework ever since he had arrived to Johnny's home from school; it was established a while back that Squee was welcome any time he wanted, and he had since then been taking full advantage of it. Johnny benefitted from this as well, as Squee was company and a maid in one. The boy could not stand any sort of grime, and had been making sure the shack was spotless. However, Johnny only happened to benefit when Squee had all of his own work done. Truthfully, at this point, Squee would rather be scrubbing a toilet than doing geometry work.

He scratched his head and continued to stare dully at the book.

"Hey'ya Squeegee," Johnny chirped, leaning over the back of the couch to glance at the small amount of numbers Squee had written down. "What'cha up to? Smartening up your brain?"

"I don't get it!" Squee cried suddenly, throwing his paper down onto the book roughly. He flicked the pencil on top of the pile and huffed angrily, his eyes flickering to Johnny as if daring him to say anything about the boy's fit.

Johnny reached down and lifted the textbook out of the mess, his eyes skipping over the words and numbers on the page. "Well jeez, Squee; this is how you do it." He tossed the book onto Squee's lap and picked up the paper and pencil, scribbling down a few things, glancing back at the page, and scribbling some more. After a few moments of this, he twisted the notebook so Squee could read what he had written down. "All you had to do was read the instructions on the other page."

Squee stared up at him with what could only be described as hero worship on his face. "No," Squee said slowly, "I read that several times. How did you manage to get it and I couldn't..? You must be a math genius in disguise!"

Johnny shrugged and dropped the notebook gracefully on Squee's face.

**A/N:****Squeegee-bear,****I****feel****your****pain.****Geometry****hates****me****as****well.****:c**

** Reviews make me write better! :D And faster. And more. And they make me feel loved. REVIEW. C: Please. **


	4. 4 Found it

**Prompt: #4. Found it**

** Word count: 451**

** Summary: Squee comes across a memento from his past. **

** Rating: K**

** Warnings: None.**

Squee dug through one of the few boxes laid out in front of him. He paused for a moment to survey his new apartment, taking in the splashes of cream and white. He allowed himself a moment to marvel at how far he had come to make sure he was able to begin fresh in a new city with new people, ready for these experiences to mold him into a stronger person.

He had wanted out of his old city. His parents truly hated him and had given him a month to move after his eighteenth birthday. His job was a complete dead end; thankfully he had been hoarding all of the money he made into a savings account because he had planned to move anyway. His only friends were gone—Pepito had abruptly stopped coming to school (Squee could only assume his father had better things for him to do), and Johnny had simply disappeared one day. He hadn't heard a word from either of them since. There was absolutely nothing there for him, so he had found a cheap apartment in Chicago and left for good.

He didn't bring many of his possessions—opting to only transport his clothing, bed, furniture, and a few small things for the sake of memory. He was already mostly unpacked, but had yet to find what he had set out to uncover this morning. He rifled around the box, pawing here and there and pushing things out of the way. There were many small odds and ends in the container that he had yet to take out.

"Aha!" He cried triumphantly, pulling out a small shoebox. He flipped the lid open and looked over its contents carefully. He finally reached in and gently picked up a small black notebook, cradling it to his chest momentarily before fingering the cover. He slowly opened it and smiled fondly at the messy scrawl, chuckling at the messy doodles in the margins. He gently turned each page, scanning over the words lovingly. Johnny had poured his insane musings into the book. As dark and sad as the entries were, Squee refused to part with it. It was the only thing he had left of his friend, and one of the few things he carried along from his past.

He tucked the book back into its place tenderly, gently running his fingertips across the worn cover once more before closing the shoebox. He pushed the box underneath his bed and let out a soft sigh. He turned back to his last couple boxes, returning to his original task. He would save nostalgia for another, far off day; this day, he needed to put his new life into motion.

**A/N:****D****'****aww.****:)****This****is****hella****short****and****a****day****or****two****late,****but****eh.****I****blame****my****sickness.****:/****Review,****lovies?**


	5. 5 The writing on the wall

**Prompt: #5. The writing on the wall**

** Word count: 567**

** Summary: Squee questions Johnny's psyche. **

** Rating: PG**

** Warnings: None.**

There were many mysteries surrounding Squee's freaky neighbor.

For instance, where had he come from? A fairly tame question, given his nature. There was no trace of any sort of past, at least from what Squee had seen of his home in the ten years they had known each other. Another question burning in the back of Squee's mind was that of his insanity. He oftentimes wondered just how this irreversible corruption came about. Had he been just a boy when it happened, years of strain and terror that no one—let alone a boy—should deal with finally weighed him down and caused him to crack? Or had it simply been brain chemistry that did him in? Was he doomed from the start, or was there a trigger? Another thing that made him wonder was his seemingly evaporated talent. Squee had caught a couple glances of the Styrofoam doughboys, and knew it had to have been his friend that painted them so intricately. Where had that gone? Why was the extent of his hobby dwindled down to a crazy stick figure? And another thing, why in the world was a man with such ideals as he held affected so easily by a nasty comment made by a passerby? What had pushed him to be so sensitive to what others spat? And why did he immediately jump to extreme violence?

Squee had noticed many things as he got older. He noticed fairly quickly that Johnny was a ticking time bomb. It was obvious enough that everything that came into contact with him deteriorated. It was up to time to stop the whirling tornado of destruction that was his neighbor and friend. He just wished he knew _why_.

He wouldn't deny it, Johnny fascinated him. He both wanted to delve deep into his brain, find everything that had gone awry and everything that was torn to shreds, everything with a dead end or a never ending loop, and to look away from him and never pass a thought of the troubled man again. He wanted to rip apart his psyche and know what thoughts passed by him, what made him do and say the things he did, and what made him tick. Yet he knew enough to try to keep a reasonable distance. It frustrated him greatly, and that frustration is what led him to where he was today.

He gathered up his nerve, stuck the last remains of Shmee in his pocket, and trudged over to the shack next to his own home. He had just watched Johnny venture out of the house, so he figured then would be the time to do what he had wanted to do. He tested the door and was not surprised to find it unlocked, so he entered and immediately began his comb over of the house.

His search had not ended with the ground floor. He had entered the catacombs that were Johnny's basement and successfully gotten himself lost. He didn't mind much; he had found what he wanted. He had stumbled upon the room with the wall Johnny had mentioned several times in his rants.

The door swung closed behind him. He immediately held a stare down with the eerie panel—or rather the words chipped out of the paint.

/_The__touch__of__the__touch__of__th__the__touch__of__the__master__'__s__hand/_

Squee had turned tail and ran.

**A/N: Cookies go to whoever can guess where I got inspiration for this ;)**

**By the by, I'm a little disappointed by how small the response to this is. :/ Kind of discouraging. I know it's not my best, but it's not hard to drop a word to tell me if you like it or not. I really appreciate it if any of you do, and I read every single review I get.**


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